In the Gloaming
by Lyon's Own
Summary: Even in times of war life carries on. The heroes of the resistance must find balance for themselves and the world they're working to save. AU HPDM Slash MPREG ltr chs No HBP
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **All features of the HP universe are the property of the official and licensed copyright holders, including but not limited to JK Rowling, Warner Bros. and Scholastic. This endeavour is one for fun not profit.

**A/N:** This is actually the 2nd story I've written, but it's been on hold for a while. Since I'm waiting for inspiration to strike and help me work through the kinks in another fic (The Chosen), I thought I'd pick this up again and see what I could do with it. For now this piece is unbeta'd…I'm sure there'll be errors. Feel free to point them out in your review (hint hint) That said, I hope you'll enjoy!

/indicates thoughts/

WARNING: This story is SLASH (involving male/male relationships) and will be MPREG (male pregnancy) in later chapters if this isn't your cuppa then please don't bother reading.

**1.**

Ever so lightly, so not to disturb the resting man's slumber, he traced over the deep circles under closed eyes and cheekbones more defined than they should be. His lover looked so tired. They _were _tired; all of them, exhausted really, months and months of skirmishes and minor battles had taken their toll. Those who fought Voldemort's armies were weary to the bone, their magics stretched to their limits, their bodies long past that point. And in none was this exhaustion of spirit more evident than in his lover. It seemed with every name added to the rolls of the honoured fallen Harry withdrew further into himself and the pain of misplaced guilt. The spark that lit his brilliant green eyes dimmed more each day, and no matter how many of his friends and supporters assured him that the carnage wrought by Voldemort's Death Eaters and opportunistic allies was not his fault, no one had succeeded in rekindling the flame in the man so many willingly followed and trusted to put their world to rights. The man who for many was more symbol than flesh. It angered him that they didn't realise, or didn't care, how deeply his lover felt, how much the violence and death marred his soul, how he found no peace in the cleansing release of tears because they needed him to be strong. Not that he allowed himself tears either, but that was different. With their hope and expectations, even with their love and adoration, they'd made Harry untouchable, inaccessible to himself and unable to be the very man they needed.

Who was Harry Potter if he could not mourn for the loss of life? Could not reconnect with the gentle strength of his soul? Could not remember that there was more to war than hate and pain the pain of knowing he'd been forced to destroy corrupted lives to save innocence, to reclaim a world where love and laughter could thrive. He hated them all sometimes: the armies of light, the armies of darkness, Voldemort, Dumbledore, the innocents in need of a hero...Damn their greed and their need! There were days he wanted to wrap Harry up in soft silks and downy duvets, and carry him away from all of it. Hide his precious one away where no evil could maim him, where the expectations of honour and duty could not burden him. Keep him safe from the world and live where only they mattered only their love existed.

He sighed. For as much as he often wished he could give in to his daydreams, he knew the very things that made his lover, the man to whom he'd surrendered his heart and soul, the man he was were those things that would never allow Harry to give up. Even when it seemed all hope was lost Harry would keep fighting with everything he had--because he believed.

Draco snorted /Reckless Gryffindor courage and a fool's hope/

Harry told him once there was a Muggle expression that God watched over babes and fools. Draco Lucien Malfoy was not a deeply spiritual man, but he hoped it was true. That the fates and all the world's gods and goddesses, that the very spirit of the Earth would watch over his beloved, would continue watching over him. After all it had to be more than luck that'd ensured Harry's survival through their years at Hogwarts.

Deep in his musings he didn't notice when bleary green eyes opened, then sparked with alert wary intelligence. Waking slowly, gently coming to consciousness was a luxury of days long gone. To be a good soldier meant having one's faculties readily available, and in the field, true sleep was for the careless.

"You're brooding," the emerald eyed man said softly, propping himself up on his elbows.

Startled but too well trained by the expectations of his class, and too used to hiding his reactions and emotions, Draco merely nodded, "Astute observation Potter, keep on like that and we won't need strategists and clairvoyants anymore, we'll just rely on you to divulge the enemy's next moves."

"Pompous arse," Harry smiled gently and pulled his lover down to lie with him, "so tell me since you only get really snarky anymore when you're pissed, what's happened?" He kissed the corner of Draco's pale pink lips.

The blond sighed and laid his head on Harry's shoulder, "Sorry. It's just...They've...the..."

Harry nodded his understanding, his own sorrow surging, "Reports came in and the lists are up?" It wasn't a question. "Who is it?"

He forced his voice through his constricting throat, around the lump that some days felt like a permanent fixture, "A good quarter of the Amphiptere team flying in to help a village under siege by Dementors--ambushed by rogue dragons. Most didn't know what hit them. Burned right out of the sky. Marcus Willmann, Haipeng Li, and uh--P-Pansy Parkinson were leading them in."

He didn't call attention to Draco's slight lapse in steady recitation, respecting his lover's need to maintain the façade of emotional control; he merely clutched the grey-eyed man closer to him. Arms strengthened and scarred by battle wrapped round him tightly trying desperately to offer a small space of safety and security in a world being torn apart. He said nothing as he kissed his lover's temple and rocked him gently in his arms. He knew Draco was hurting. The Amphiptere, Amphisbaena and Naga teams were mostly comprised of former Slytherins convinced to turn their backs on their families' alliances with the Dark Lord. Young men and women Draco had personally recruited, rallied, and convinced--encouraging them to put aside childish divisions between houses, and unite with those who opposed Voldemort because it was right, and because it was the best way to ensure their futures (they were Slytherins after all and cool logic along with the explicit delineation of profit either via status or material gain was always a consideration).

Haipeng, Harry knew, had been a favoured 3rd year Draco had taken under his wing in their 5th year. Harry didn't know him well, but assumed Draco felt for Haipeng much as he felt for Colin Creevey. Marcus had been on the Slytherin Quidditch team, and one of the best flyers at Hogwarts. And Pansy--Harry sighed. Pansy, who loved Draco, and would have followed him anywhere. Pansy, who taught him the meaning of true jealousy, the young woman he'd always secretly feared because by right of the contractual agreement drawn between pureblood parents, she had prior claim on Draco. He owned Draco's heart yes, but had things been different, had there been no war, Pansy could easily have pushed the betrothal contract into effect, laying claim to Draco's body, and the right to be by his side. He could still see so clearly the confrontation that both sealed their rivalry, yet declared Harry the undisputed winner, which forced them into an uneasy truce.

It was the night of the Halloween ball their 6th year, Harry had made special plans. Knowing Draco would be making the rounds at the ball for at least an hour, he put in a token appearance, made his excuses to Ron and Hermione, then slipped off to prepare "their" room--a small unused classroom/storage area in what seemed to be a hidden corridor where they'd been meeting in secret since the previous year. With Dobby's help, a small feast for two was spread on a low table set on the lush carpets Harry'd transfigured from the room's discards. He'd set candles floating everywhere, and warded the room for privacy and security. It was the night he'd planned to give himself completely to his lover--heart soul and body. When Draco entered the room his face lit up, then fell abruptly as he realised his lover wasn't alone.

"Oh Draco, c'mon you know you want to. It's not that long until we'll be married anyway, you know you want me. You wouldn't have snuck off tonight if you didn't want me following you." The somewhat harried Slytherin had tried to close the door on his persistent "girlfriend," but not before she'd caught sight of the candle filled room. "OH! Draco, this is so perfect!"

She shoved her way past the usually unflappable Malfoy-heir, then shrieked loudly when she realised they weren't alone. A highly embarrassed and very red faced Harry Potter, clad only in a light dressing gown, was sitting on the floor pillows gaping at her. "Uh-um hello Pansy. Um H-happy Halloween?" Harry stammered, running a hand nervously through his already hopelessly tousled hair.

Pansy shrewdly surveyed the room, the turned to Draco, "WHAT'S GOING ON HERE!" She continued to scream shrilly at him for a good 15 minutes. Harry didn't recall much, mostly things about broken promises, the wrath of her father, bringing shame on the House of Malfoy and pureblood families, filthy catamites--basically the kind of homophobic crap Harry expected from the more bigoted muggle-world, not the wizarding community where bisexuality and same-sex partners were a common enough thing that no one really batted an eyelash to see two girls or two lads together. But then again, Pansy Parkinson was a frustrated debutante faced with losing a promised alliance to one of the best "catches" of the pureblood wizarding world, so he figured he could see where some venom might be expected.

Draco suffered the harangue with a look of absolute boredom, then when Pansy had run out of steam calmly asked her if she were quite finished with the hysterics, shocking her and Harry both to gawping carp impersonations. He gracefully sank to the floor beside Harry tipped his mouth shut, then brushed his cheek with the back of his elegant ivory hand.

"I'm sorry for the disruption Mine."

Holding Harry's fearful emerald eyes with his own, he spoke dismissively to the young woman still shocked and fuming by the door.

"Pansy, in the cradle our parents made plans for us that had nothing to do with who we would become, or what we would want and need when we came of age. I suggest you take some time to decide who **_you_** need to be and stop living your life as your father's puppet." His voice softened as he continued to caress his lover's face, "as for me. I have made my choice. Harry is the **_only_** thing I need. The only one I'll want for my whole life. He is everything Pansy."

Finally tearing his eyes away, Draco fixed the girl with a hard look and spoke, his voice glacial,

"We have been friends a long time Parkinson. Good friends. But know this; I **_will_** destroy anyone and anything that tries to come between Harry and me. There will be no animosity between you and me. If you can accept Harry Potter as my chosen, the alliance between the Houses of Parkinson and Malfoy will stand. Move against Harry and I in **_any _**way and I'll bring you down."

Draco sneered, "Remember Parkinson, yours is a failing house. Your father, uncles and brothers have managed your dwindling finances quite poorly. You have the benefit of your pedigree, but no holdings, money, power, or position to recommend you. Do you really want me as an enemy?"

Draco raised an aristocratic brow then gestured with his chin. "See yourself out. Obviously, other plans have been made for me this evening, ones I plan on keeping," and without another word he turned and devoured Harry's mouth, nipping and licking the full lips he so adored, revelling in the taste of the young man who'd broken through his defences and set his chilled heart to blazing. /Let them come. Let them all come. For this I will fight anyone, do anything. I'm not Draco Malfoy, heir to one of the largest wizarding fortunes, and Prince of Slytherin House for nothing./

Heat surged between them, fuelled by his anger, his need to possess to protect, to claim. He pulled at Harry's dressing gown, ruthlessly ripping the fabric and tossing the material away then clawed at his robes desperate to be free of the clinging fabric, wanting to be skin to skin, then finally. Oh finally. They were blessedly relievedly naked, sun drenched ivory and honeyed cream, and no matter how many times Draco'd felt Harry against him, every single time those strengthening arms tightened around him, he felt as though he'd come home.

In a lull between bucking strength and friction, teasing nips, delicious kisses, roaming hands, talented tongues, and mad brilliant fingers, Harry stretched, reaching behind some of the cushions for a small tube, "Dr-Dray," he panted, desperately trying to catch hold of one or two of those funny little things--yes thingies--words though he was rather confident they were pretty much lost in the mush that was his brain at the moment, "Dray. wait. wa-wait stop."

Caught in a lust filled haze it took several tries before Harry could make his lover understand what he needed, and finally only by firmly grabbing the pale young man's ears was he truly able to catch his lover's attention.

"Ow! Harry, why did you do that?"

He rubbed his reddened ears and cast a pout at his lover, which Harry thought wholly adorable, and it very much made him want to continue sucking and nibbling on those pouting lips. He pushed that thought away though. They only had so much time tonight. And the time was right for what he wanted.

"Sorry Dragon, but you were a little over-focussed, and I need you to be here with me for this."

Sobering, Draco moved up and lay beside his lover, "What is it?"

Harry blushed and handed over the small tube, "I-I. Your fingers are good, but I--I'm ready for more"

Something indefinable flashed in Draco's silver eyes, "Harry are you sure? We've waited this long. I don't have a problem waiting longer. I want you Mine. Merlin's beard--I want you so bad, but you have to want this. You have to be ready Harry. Really ready."

Harry took Draco's hand and brought it up to his mouth kissing each finger gently. Then sucked his index finger into his mouth whirling his tongue around the digit and wetting it well. He lowered Draco's hand, guiding it to his body's entrance. Heavy lidded eyed and a sweet seductive smile graced his face, "I'm ready Draco. I love you."

It had been tender and passionate and sweet, and oh so wonderful. Indulging in a small smile Harry shook himself out of that cherished memory. If he'd had any doubts about the man now in his arms, that night put them to rest. In Draco Malfoy, against all reason, Harry Potter had found the one true love of his life. And in this time of war, when everything was fleeting and uncertain, he knew he was blessed to have this one constant, this one truth. No matter what happened, their love would endure. It was his private truth though; there were a few other things he knew for certain. One being that death would continue to come for those who deserved life, another that he was failing in protecting the world that had come to depend on him.

They had not been able to locate Voldemort, and the attacks by Death Eaters, rogue dragons and werewolves and mercenary giants were decimating villages, towns, and families. It seemed no where was safe and that the attacks occurred at random. Their strategists, Hermione and Draco among them, were convinced that the Dark Lord was working to weaken the strength of the resistance and the morale of the wizarding world in general, so that should the Order and Ministry be defeated, he'd have a pliant people--too terrified to strike back in any way. Voldemort wanted a people broken, and the only way to stop it was to stop him completely.

Without the lure of the Dark Lord's power, his mercenary army would retreat, and his Death Eaters would be too busy scrambling to maintain a leadership hierarchy to defend against an all out attack. But they were tired now, two years of fighting, and running, and some days it seemed never ending. The love shared in that hidden room at Hogwarts seemed like a lifetime ago. And so many lost since then. Lost too damn young, never having known love, or the joy of a family, or the security of a life where evil wasn't waiting to swoop down and destroy it all in a moment...and what was he, the oh-so-great Harry Potter, supposed "saviour" of the wizarding word doing?

"Brooding and putting blame on yourself that doesn't belong there." Startled he looked down at the man resting his head on his shoulder.

"Was I talking to myself again?"

Draco chuckled, "No but I can always tell when you're getting down about yourself."

He propped himself up, and placed a gentle kiss against his lover's mouth, "we've both had our turn at brooding tonight. You know as well as I do it doesn't do anything but make us both miserable prats, so come off it and come cheer me up instead."

"Cheer you up?" Harry's voice was thick with suspicion.

"Mmm," Draco teased a lick against Harry's lush mouth. "Yes, cheer me up Koma."

It was Harry's turn to chuckle and Draco delighted in seeing the sparkle in his lover's eyes if only for an instant, "You are a horny bastard."

"True. But you love me anyway, Mine."

Harry nodded, the weighty veil of fragile mortality once again obscuring the fire in his eyes, "I do. I do love you, Draco. So much." He clutched his lover tightly, almost painfully, "You know that right? You know I love you."

Draco closed his eyes and traced expressive fingers across Harry's face and through his riot of raven hair. "I know it Harry. Just like you know how much I..."

"Yes." Harry kissed him; it was okay, for now he didn't need the words. He wanted them someday, and he knew Draco tried. But overcoming a lifetime of emotional reticence was a long process. It was hard for his Dragon to use words like 'love' out loud. Hell, Harry was pretty sure that until they'd gotten together no one had ever told Draco they loved him.

He might not be able to use those words, but his touches spoke of passion, devotion and adoration more eloquently than any poet Harry'd ever read. Someday though, Harry was sure his lover would say the words, and it would be beautiful, powerful, and complete him in ways that he'd yet to imagine.

Tbc…

**A/N 2: **On nicknames: Koma meaning lion From Koma Inu, mysterious and mythical lion-headed dogs that serve as Temple guardians in Japan and China. Muggles have statutes of these creatures guarding the temples of various Buddhist deities, especially those of the _bodhisattva Monju_, as their use became more secularised these statues were also placed to guard tombs, palaces, and the homes of dignitaries. Like many other magical creatures, oh like unicorns, sphinxes, manticores, and basilisks, they are myth and legend to muggles, but I'd fashion a guess that they really exist in the wizarding world. A ferocious lion with the tenacity and loyalty of a canine seems an apt nickname for Harry. Don't you think?


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **All features of the HP universe are the property of the official and licensed copyright holders, including but not limited to JK Rowling, Warner Bros. and Scholastic. This endeavour is one for fun not profit.

**A/N:** This story is SLASH (involving male/male relationships) and will be MPREG (male pregnancy) in later chapters. Thanks for the reviews, they helped a great deal and I appreciate them all. Hope you'll enjoy this chapter.

**2.**

They might not have gotten much rest or sleep the night before, but both Harry and Draco were in better spirits when they entered the Counsel room the next morning. Their former headmaster's eyes twinkled as he greeted them, and Harry wasn't sure, but he thought he'd heard the aged wizard whisper something like, "well done" into Draco's ear. Following a reading of the latest causalities list, and a moment of silence to honour those who'd given their lives in the defence of others in the battle against Voldemort's greed and evil, reports were given, targets and defences were assessed, and plans were made with orders sent out to waiting team leaders. And as they had from nearly the beginning, refugees from burnt out villages, made their way to the sanctuary that was Hogwarts.

With the Ministry of Magic disorganised and slow to act, the wizarding community began to turn to one of the places where they'd been made to feel safe, secure, and protected. Hogwarts became the mother welcoming her wayward and wearied children home. The wards on the castle and its grounds were strengthened to an incredible degree, and diligent patrols were constant. There would be no betrayal from within. Each witch and wizard was subjected to questioning with Veritaserum and had to consent to questioning by a Legilimens before gaining an escorted entrance.

There were those who objected to amassing a "defenceless" population on Hogwarts grounds, but those voices were silenced as the devastation grew, and more and more homes were destroyed with people and families displaced with no where to go.

The resistance may not have had cause to fear betrayal within the ranks of refugees, but there are always those who will take advantage of the distraction of war to attend to their own personal vendettas—loyalty to one's cause is not infrequently second to one's own ambition and desire. The Houses of Hogwarts united on the field, and within the Order of the Phoenix, but all character traits have the potential for harm. Bravery, not tempered by forethought, can lead to foolish risk-taking and danger; ambition can motivate one to success, or avarice; loyalty can be blind, or worse myopic; gentleness, and a desire for neutrality can become apathy and neglect. Though most brought the best of themselves, and the traits that had identified their House-families to the war effort, there were those whose were just waiting for their time to strike.

Three months after the near decimation of Amphiptere team, Harry was nearing the end of his endurance. His friends were desperately worried about the toll the war was taking on the young man. Part of what made Harry such a good leader was that he cared, he truly and deeply cared about the world, and right, and people. The slaughter of innocents was breaking his heart and his spirit. They'd been dealt a heavy blow in Corris Wood, a small village well known for the profusion of blue baneberry, a powerful medicinal herb used in many healing potions that grew in the area. The village had supplied the resistance with much of this needed herb, and when reports of fires in the fields surrounding Corris Wood reached the Order's leadership, help in the form of the Griffin team, lead by Harry, was sent right away. They were nearly too late to save many of the village structures, and were too late to save some of the residents.

Harry spied three young girls, separated from the bulk of the village population by Death Eaters, and with a wild yell charged into the fray, firing off hexes and curses with barely a breath between. Two of the Death Eaters went down and were subdued by Ministry Aurors fighting with the Order, while a third Apparated away, but not before carelessly tossing off the Cruciatus curse in the direction of the terrified children. No one could have blocked the curse nor known the girl hit suffered from a heart condition. Her screaming agony lasted only seconds, but the sounds torn from her little body wounded the souls of all within hearing distance. Desperately crying his grief, and screaming his rage, Harry held the girl's body for quite some time, and when his storm was spent, he petted her hair and rocked her gently humming a bit of lullaby he remembered hearing at some point or another. Those who'd fought were frightened. This was not a Harry Potter they knew; he was more primal, and wholly unapproachable. When even Ron and Hermione failed to get through to the stricken man, they sent for Draco.

"He won't let her go," Hermione whispered softly when the blond arrived. "Her mother needs to see her, hold her before the family says good-bye, but we can't get Harry to give her up."

Focussed only on his lover and Harry's turmoil, Draco pushed aside his own grief at the devastation that surrounded them. He took a deep breath, and clasped Hermione's shoulder, "I'll handle it. What was her name?"

"Abigail."

He nodded, and with quietly, purposefully, stalked off toward the little alcove where his lover murmured and rocked a dead child's body. He could feel Harry's grief and guilt as he crossed the small village square. It was so thick the air nearly shimmered with it, and it left a deep sorrow in its wake. Ever graceful, Draco folded himself down beside his lover, carefully reaching to gently brush a loose lock from the little girl's face.

"She's cold Draco, she's so very cold and I can't warm her up. I tried all the charms I know. Can you warm her up?" Harry turned anguished eyes to his lover.

Draco quickly unfastened his cloak and pulled the thick fabric into his arms, "Give Abigail to me, Harry. I need to wrap her up in something warm."

Dazed, confusion evident, Harry nodded slowly and gently placed the dead girl's body in Draco's arms, "You're so smart, my Dragon. Why didn't I think of that? She's cold and I sat here doing nothing to help."

Deep worry flashed in Draco's silver eyes, but he said nothing, instead, surreptitiously signalling for Hermione to come and take Abigail's body to her family. He laid her in Hermione's arms, then pulled a pale and cold Harry close to him. "Abigail's family is going to tend to her now Harry okay?" He spoke softly, soothingly. Outwardly, he maintained his famed composure, but inside he was trembling.

_I'm no good at all this emotional crap Harry. You're the one who's mastered the communing with our sensitive inner Hufflepuff. So pull it together so you can tell me what to do okay?_

That Harry couldn't, or wouldn't, come back from his retreat into emotional shock and denial was inconceivable. This was Harry Potter. His Koma! Harry--fierce, unstoppable, resilient and--

_Oh gods… _

Draco pulled himself short, had he too been making the same mistake as all of the others? Forgetting the man? Loosing him in the mythos that surrounded him? How much could one man bear before it was too much? How many times could you wound a lion before even that most mighty of beasts lost its strength? Draco was tempted to sweep Harry into his arms and carry him to the camp the Griffin and Wyvern teams set up just outside the village, but to do so would send a message that his lover was weakened, and the last thing their fighters needed now was a another blow to their morale. So once more, painfully sacrificing Harry the man, to Harry Potter the myth, he took a fortifying breath, stood and pulled Harry standing.

"C'mon Potter. The least you can do is Apparate us back to camp, we have work to do" He said sternly, playful sarcasm heavy in his voice. _Please. Please Harry. Snap out of it. Come back to me. Call me a prat and tell me to sod off..._

Harry merely cocked his head and gave Draco another deeply confused look, "I don't know where the camp is Draco. Besides, shouldn't we stay to see if Abigail's okay?" Harry's voice was soft and his brows scrunched together like he was trying to solve a very intricate puzzle. Draco hadn't seen him like this since he'd been whacked in the head by a bludger in a pick-up Quidditch game their last year at Hogwarts.

_Bloody Hell. _

Draco pulled Harry tight into his arms and in the next moment they were in the tents set up for injured fighters. Rachel Olivine, a Hufflepuff from their year, was tending wounded witches and wizards, but stopped when Harry and Draco Apparated in. "Draco! Is Harry hurt?"

"It's fine Olivine. We're just stopping in for a minute." He pointed to Seamus Finnegan with whom he'd developed a very solid, if unlikely, friendship; the two men found they worked well together. So well in fact, Seamus was Wyvern's Second in Command. "Finnegan, I'm leaving the team to you. Tell Weasley he's got Griffin until Harry's back. If we're not back tonight we'll meet at Phoenix headquarters usual time."

Seamus nodded and Draco popped out of sight, sick with fear at his lover's almost comatose state. Back at 12 Grimmauld Place a nearly frantic Draco pulled the Order's resident healer, Paul Demetrius in to examine Harry.

15 minutes later Demetrius left their bedroom and grabbed hold of the pacing silver-eyed man who was even more pale than usual.

"What's wrong with him?" Draco snarled, the disdain of his aristocratic responses coming to the fore.

Demetrius shook his head, despite the improvements in Draco's personality since he and Harry had gotten together, when the younger man was stressed, angry, confused, or hurting, he tended to fall back on his condescending and demanding behaviours, reverting to Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy's arrogant snobbish bigoted brat instead of the reserved, but caring and dedicated man they'd all come to better understand, admire, and even sometimes love.

"He made it through this skirmish without any major injuries. He had some bruising, a couple of minor cuts, and a few abrasions I've attended to, but mostly he's underweight, his physical energy reserves are low, and he's borderline anaemic. His body is crashing Malfoy. He needs rest and some solid meals. He can't keep pushing himself the way he's been and expect his body to hold out."

The healer sighed," The bigger and more pressing issue at the moment is that he's in severe shock. His emotional reserves are pretty much shot and that little girl's death tonight just pushed him over the edge. He needs to talk about it, and purge himself of the guilt and grief he's been carrying around. I've left a pensieve on the dresser that may be a good place to start. He needs to let some of this go, otherwise," he fixed the younger man with a hard look, "we'll either lose him to mania before the final battle can even take place, or the dark lord will destroy what's left of his mind in seconds, leaving an empty shell behind."

Draco paled at the thought of his beloved suffering either fate described by the healer.

_How did it get this bad and where in Merlin's name was I when it was happening?_

"How can I help?"

Demetrius nodded, "At least three days of complete bedrest. I'll determine if he's well enough for light patrol duties after that. Get him to eat, at least 3 times a day. 5 small meals would be best, but these days getting Harry to stop for a meal is hard enough as it is. I'm not expecting you to work miracles. 2 cups of hot chocolate a day, and most important, get him to talk, it'll help with some of the emotional baggage he's carrying. A journal might help," the healer scratched his head thoughtfully.

"No. No journals!" Draco said quickly. They'd been together a few months when Harry confided in him about Tom Riddle's journal. He couldn't see his lover ever taking comfort in something that had so many painful associations for him. "I'll--we'll start with the pensieve and see how that goes first. Is there anything else?"

The healer shook his head, "just take care of him. He needs that right now. He's so busy trying to be who everyone else wants him to be, and to take care of...well to take care of the whole world that he's forgetting he's just one young man, he's not in this fight alone."

Draco nodded, "I'll take care of him."

"I know you will," he patted Draco's shoulder as he headed toward the door of their suite. "I'll have some hot chocolate sent up. Looks like you could use a cup about now too. And a nice relaxing bath would help you both with sore muscles and any residual discomfort from the bruising."

After Demetrius left, Draco popped his head into their bedroom to find Harry lying on their bed still as death, and staring blankly at the ceiling. He walked over and sat gingerly on the bed, careful not to jostle his lover too much, then rested his hand in the inky mess. As much as he might complain about the sorry state of Harry's hair, he wouldn't trade a single follicle of the deceptively soft and luxuriously thick tresses. Resting back against the headboard, he just stroked through Harry's hair, rubbing his scalp and soothing him. It was calming for them both. So much so that he barely noted when the suite door opened. The hot chocolate delivery, he rightly figured. After a few more moments he got up and brought the tray sitting on their sofa table into the bedroom. He sat, then arranged Harry to rest against him, and handed him his mug.

"Drink up, Koma. Healer's orders." He cradled his lover's head against his shoulder and once again started to play with the mess. "Would you believe," he began quite conversationally, as though his lover's silence wasn't scaring him near to death, "that a child as spoiled, and pampered, and generally arrogant as myself, never had a temper tantrum?"

He looked down at his lover who softly snorted into his hot chocolate at the non sequitur. "Yes, yes. I know you find that rather had to swallow but it's true. Well mostly true. I had a temper tantrum once. I was 4 and my parents were entertaining for the evening. For the most part, the guests were high-ranking, pureblood families, and probably a few token Ministry officials. Just the usual suspects, I assume, but there was also an ambassador from Italy, in attendance that night and he'd brought his wife, of course.

Draco leaned over and brushed an unruly lock from his lover's forehead. "I thought she was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. This was, of course, long before I met you, and learned what true beauty means." He kissed Harry's temple, ignoring the wet glistening in his love's eyes. "So there I was, 4 years old, enraptured by this Italian beauty, and determined to spend as much time with her as I could."

"Let me guess, you refused to go to bed," Harry finally spoke his voice hoarse and scratchy, but music to Draco's ears.

"5 points to Gryffindor Mr. Potter for your deductive skills," Draco teased, affecting the demeanour of an instructor. "Yes, I refused to go to bed. I clung to her robes and cried and wailed, and generally made an arse of myself, as children throwing tantrums at that age are wont to do. My father came and stood before me ordered me to release the lady and go to my room." For a moment Draco was lost in memory, then the familiar pull of calloused fingers in his hand brought him back.

He cleared his throat, but his voice was softer than it'd been before, "Even then I knew that you didn't stand before the sort of power my father wielded, and that fear was key to survival."

Draco blinked, breaking the spell of introspection, and resumed in a normal tone of voice, "The next morning, my father lectured me on the importance of maintaining the dignity of our family image, 'perception is power' he said. No one could ever look at me and see weakness. It was my duty, he said, to present the perfect image of strength and finesse. Neither weakness nor unseemly behaviour would be tolerated. And with that he called me over to his chair and broke all the fingers in my right hand." Harry gasped but Draco didn't react, merely continued his story, "When the first bone snapped I cried. It hurt, and I was afraid. By the time he'd reached my smallest finger I understood, and I have not cried since." Draco looked down and brushed away the tear slowly coursing down his lover's cheek.

"What I'm trying to tell you Koma, is that I know now that my father was wrong. That playing to an image, acting in the way you think people expect you to be isn't true strength. It is the worst kind of weakness. The kind that steals you from yourself. You taught me that. With your love, and your patience, and your bloody Gryffindor rashness and courage.

I fell in love with Harry Potter, not 'The Boy Who Lived' and they," he motioned, broadly sweeping his hand toward the window, "are all fools for being satisfied with the image of you they're created; the man they _think _they know because they made him up, and read about him in The Daily Prophet. I am the lucky one, well me and a few other people, though I think I'd prefer having you all to myself, of course Molly Weasley would definitely have something to say about that notion, and I love her applesauce cake so there goes that idea."

Harry snorted, then chuckled, then gulped down the rest of his now lukewarm chocolate, and snuggled closer into Draco's side. And Draco sighed with relief, smiling slightly. His Harry was in there alright, just hurting and tired, and somewhat worn 'round the edges, and in need of a bit of a reminder. "Yes well. As I was saying, they are fools because they'll never know the depth of you. My lover is a nutter, you know, Harry. He runs headlong into danger without any idea how to keep his fat from the fire, but he's no fool to loose himself in other people's expectations."

Draco took Harry's empty mug and placed it next to his own on the beside table then leaned over slowly bussing Harry's mouth with his lips. He kissed him gently once, then breathed into the minute space between them, "You stink Potter I'm going to run you a bath."

Harry blinked, smiled, then started laughing. He laughed until the tears ran, and he nearly fell off the bed. "Draco you are an arse!" He chuckled, lightly punching his lover's arm.

"Ah, that may be Potter, but I'm your arse."

Chuckling and leaning on one another, they made their way to the bathroom which, while no where near as extravagant as the Prefects bathroom at Hogwarts, was still, being a part of the restored Black ancestral home, pretty damn luxurious. Draco made his way down his lover's body, kissing and licking every bit of skin before lovingly washing away all of Harry's aches and pains. It wasn't often they could indulge in this kind of time together, and it was good to be able to be playful with each other as well as sensual, and of course eventually sexual as Draco rode his lover to exhausted completion before wrapping him in fluffy towels and carrying him to bed.

Tbc…


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **All features of the HP universe are the property of the official and licensed copyright holders, including but not limited to JK Rowling, Warner Bros. and Scholastic. This endeavour is one for fun not profit.

**A/N:** This story is **SLASH SLASH SLASH SLASH SLASH SLASH** (involving male/male relationships) and will be MPREG (male pregnancy) in later chapters. **Thanks** for the reviews, they help a great deal and I appreciate them all. With all the trouble I've been having with uploading, I'm a bit paranoid that this chapter won't load, so please review so I know it's up and accessible. Btw, did I mention there's **SLASH **yes this is a very very **SLASH **oriented chapter so don't read if that's not your thing.

**3.**

The next morning Draco quickly rose, dressed, and made his way to the counsel room, where he informed all members of the Order of the Phoenix that unless Voldemort himself was knocking on the door Harry was not to be disturbed for the next three days. He felt bad about not answering Ron and Hermione's questions specifically about Harry's health.

He knew how important his best friends were to Harry, but he didn't have the time or energy to satisfy their curiosity and concern right then. He needed to take care of his lover. Identify Objective. Formulate Plan. Implement Plan. Obtain Objective Successfully. In some things, the world of a Slytherin alumnus was rather simple. Emotional displays to reassure, comfort and all that codswallop were sometimes a waste of valuable time needed for action. Draco simply didn't have time to get into it with Harry's best friends right now.

He brushed them off on his way to the kitchen assuring them he'd be in touch later, Harry was as well as could be expected at the moment and he needed to get back. He grabbed the readied breakfast tray with all of Harry's favourite morning foods, tea, and orange juice, and made his way back up to their suite where his lover was just stirring, hair sticking in every direction, one hand patting around for his glasses the other scratching his bare chest, and in general, looking positively edible.

Draco set the tray down on the bed then leaned in for a kiss, pulling back long moments later just a little breathless, though he noticed smugly that Harry was also breathing a little heavily. "Mmm Good Morning."

"Morning Dragon," Harry rubbed his eyes under his glasses, "How long until the morning meeting?"

Draco shook his head, "No morning meeting. Demetrius has confined you to three days of solid bed rest, so you, my Lion, are going nowhere. Besides," he smirked, snitching a bit of bacon from Harry's fork, "We need to talk."

"We do?" Harry's brows knitted together, "I thought we talked last night." He paused a moment, "Thank you by the way, I feel much better. Even when it's couched in something horrific you always know just what to say to keep me from getting too caught up what I'm _supposed _to be and not who I _am_."

"Mm," Draco sipped at his tea, "No, I talked you listened. Today we switch, you talk, I listen."

They ate in companionable silence for awhile then Draco stood and cleared the dishes, stacking them on the tray for the House elves Harry employed--_I don't think I'm ever going to get used to that one, _employed_ house elves-heh_---to collect from their sitting room.

When he returned Harry was frowning, "Draco, I really don't feel like taking about this stuff."

Wholly expecting Harry's reticence, Draco merely stretched out on the bed and nodded, "Okay."

"Okay? Just okay. You're not going to push for anything, or try to prod me into telling you how I feel?"

"No."

Harry thought a moment then began fuming. This was so typical of Draco. It's not emotionally convenient, so he doesn't know how to deal, so he closes himself off and pretends there's no problem,

"I can't believe you sometimes. You can be such an insensitive berk you know that! Sometimes I feel that my heart's breaking for every witch or wizard who's lost someone in this bloody war that there just aren't enough pieces of me to go around and still get the job done, and I fuck up and people die and it hurts so bad and I-I'm all alone with it, like it's this thing this big huge ball of pain and sorrow and regret and failure on my chest just-- just crushing the life out of me, making it so I can't breathe hardly at all, and you! You--the one person I--I'm supposed to be able to let it all go with who's supposed to love me enough to understand are just lying there like nothing's happening so I don't have to talk to you because it's emotional and messy or something and gods forbid you get your hands dirty in all my crap!"

Draco sighed, sometimes being the shifty one sucked. Especially when you had to point out you were being shifty, "Well that'll do for a start. You feel any better?"

"Huh?

"Do. You. Feel. Any. Better? Now that we've had our first foray into emotional gardening." Draco grinned

"Emotional gardening?"

"Yes. You and me, elbows deep in the shite you carry around with you…all the 'crap' I believe is what you'd said" A smirk and a toss of long ice blonde hair accompanied Draco's response.

"Why you sneaky---"

Draco sniffed, "Hermione says the muggles call it Reverse Psychology, or some other such nonsense. It works though so who'm I to complain."

Harry had stopped pacing mid-rant and now made his way to the bed stretching beside his lover. He raised his hand and cradled Draco's cheek, delighting in the way his lover leaned into the caress. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said before. If-if I didn't have you with me I don't think I would've gotten this far. I'm just tired."

Draco nodded, "There's that. And a few days bed rest will help. But…as much as I hate admitting when you are…you're right too. It _is_ hard for me to do the emotionally messy stuff. I'm trying Harry, because I don't want to end up like my father. I _know_ I'm not good enough for you, that you deserve better, someone who can support you the way you need."

Draco huffed out a breath, "You deserve better Harry, so I try to be better, I'm still learning to be a better me. You make me _want _to be a better me. But damn it all Potter when you boil it down I'm a selfish bastard who has no intention of ever letting you go. So you'll just have to resign yourself to patience and an emotionally reticent husband."

Harry gasped, "Draco. Are you saying? Are you asking me to?"

"No."

"No?"

"No."

"But you said--" Gently Draco laid two fingers across his love's lips.

"That was--a flub, of a sort--. When I ask for your hand Harry James Potter, I will do so properly, upholding the traditions of our people, because I want to show you honour and respect, and because what I feel for you..." Draco sighed, "It's not time yet Harry, but you have to know it's what I want, what I've wanted for years. I told you before I'm a selfish man. Everybody else in the world is fighting because in the end they'll win peace, and freedom, and a future with a lot less to fear. Me? I'm fighting 'cause when we win I get you."

That evening, following a day of reading, sleeping, eating Harry complaining about the sleeping and eating parts, found them again relaxing in the bath. Draco pressed firmly against Harry's back. "Draco?"

"Yes Koma" Draco opened his eyes a fraction. They'd washed already, drained and refilled the rub so bow they were having a bit of a drowse in the steamy warmth of the bathroom.

"Abigail didn't die because I was too slow did she?" It was a statement, a confirmation, and a young man's plea for reassurance all in one.

Draco pressed a kiss to his temple and brushed long strong fingers down his arms, "No Harry. She died because an evil wizard killed her. No one could have stopped it from happening Mine. It all just happened too damn fast." Draco tipped up Harry's chin and cocked his head so that his silver gaze geld an emerald one captive,

"We are wizards Harry. Not gods. There are some things magic cannot do. Some things magic cannot fix. No matter how powerful you are. I'm an insufferably arrogant bastard, but even I am humble enough to know I do not have power over life and death. It hurts beloved, I know. But all we can do is mourn and move on and keep fighting so they will not have died in vain. You can't live for the ones we've lost Harry, but knowing they've died should make you much more aware of how fragile life is, and how each day should be cherished as something new and good."

Harry smiled gently, stole a kiss, and sunk deeper into the warm water of the tub, "You're not so insufferable anymore. And just when did you get to be so wise Draco Malfoy?"

Draco snorted, grabbed Harry's hand and ran it down his flank and over his thigh. "Do you feel this body? I'm too young to be wise. You want wise go see some wizened prune like Dumbledore. I just happen to be a rather brilliant wizard who's figured some things out."

Harry laughed and flung water up at his lover, "Smug bastard."

"Absolutely," he replied with utter confidence. Draco heaved an internal sigh of relief and tightened his hold around his lover

_That's it. You'll make it back. You need to smile again, laugh again._

Pressing light kisses into his hair, and gently stroking all the places he could reach, Draco rocked them slowly

_I need to take better care of you Harry. In all this mess you forget sometimes that you're just one man, and that life is the purpose of all this death and pain. There's love and beauty and good left in the world still Harry. It's why we're fighting so hard._

Again he was so lost in his thoughts it took some time before Harry was able to gain his attention, "Wool gathering Malfoy?"

"Hrmph."

Harry turned a bit so he lay more on his side than his back and pulled Draco's arm around him tighter, "Dragon?"

"Hmm yeah," Draco caressed Harry's back tracing meaningless patterns over the toned muscles there.

"Last night what you said...about..."

"Having to be yourself for yourself?"

"That too, but no I meant the other part"

"My fingers."

"Yes. Is that why?" Harry's voice was soft.

Draco closed his eyes and nodded curtly, pushing away any emotional response just as he had in the intervening years. "Yes. The bones were left to knit on their own. I wasn't taken to a healer. It took a long time, and because they weren't set, they didn't heal in the proper alignment though the breaks were clean. When my hand finally healed my father's personal healer rebroke the bones so he could charm them to heal straight, but the hand was weakened because I hadn't used it while my fingers were healing and I had to have it taped up for awhile."

He spoke matter-of-factly, like he was giving a report, or reading historical details from some dusty old scroll. "By then I'd learned to read and write and my left had become my dominant hand anyway.

Harry brought Draco's hands to his mouth and kissed and caressed each digit with his lips and tongue. "You are so strong, and I love you so much," he choked out, voice heavy with tears.

He reached up and pulled Draco down for a deep kiss. He turned in the large bath placing kisses along the long slender neck, the strong jaw, his tongue played in the whorls of Draco's ear, leaving hot dirty words and suggestions in the wake of every pass. He teased the pebbled pink nubs of Draco's chest with his fingers, then his tongue, then his teeth, gently nipping and biting delighting in the needy whimpers and sultry moans that slipped from his lover's mouth as he teased and tortured the sensitive buds.

"Nngh...Ha-Harry Please. Please please please...oh gods"

Harry grinned wickedly as he stroked his lover. Yes! This was the Draco Malfoy only he got to see. This was his powerful Dragon giving everything to him, trusting Harry with control over his life and body. He who'd been taught early and painfully that one must never give up control. This Draco writhing beneath him told him he was loved with every whimper. And there was something so very hot in his wanton pleading, though let it never be said that Draco Malfoy ever begged for anything. So pervasive was the façade of cool detachment one might think he'd be cold and reserved in the sharing of his body was well, but Harry knew differently. Not for nothing was Malfoy his dragon-fiery, intense, primal. His lover's marmoreal ivory skin was living fire, so hot under his hands—yes molten marble, smooth, and vibrant. And suddenly it occurred to him that he needed this. He needed that steel warmth inside him. He'd been so cold these last weeks, just going through the motions. He needed that pulse of life inside, needed the heat of Draco's love to chase away the cold and the shadows.

Murmuring an incantation as he rose over his lover's groin Harry lowered himself slowly. He wasn't particularly stretched, so he took his time, rising up and pushing back little by little until Draco was flushed and sweating and fully seated within his body.

"Ha-Harry," Draco moaned, " s'good. So tight. so good." Harry smiled canted his hips and rocked a little, "Auugh," Draco flung his head back, scrabbling for some little measure of control.

Harry pulled his face up and locked gazes with his lover, "No, don't hold back. Let it go Dragon. Take me." His eyes burned nearly glowing with the reflected heat between them, "Love me," he ordered.

"Always, always," his pale haired lover cried thrusting, near violently, up into him. Again and again Draco thrust up as Harry moved down taking his lover further into himself. All too soon that familiar tingle rose within him and he howled his frustration, slamming down harder determined to wrench every bit from Draco he could before he was lost in orgasmic oblivion.

"Mine. Mine. Mine" he chanted riding his love and pouring all he had into the connection between them. And then it was on them, completion flinging them from the heights of ecstasy only to cradle them as they fell as one. Collapsing on his lover's chest Harry offered a brief lick to Draco's clavicle and rode out the aftershocks of their powerful joining.

"That was--you were--" he yawned and snuggled deeper against Draco's chest.

"Yes, it was," came the somewhat breathless reply. Harry recognised the tingle of the spell casting then knew no more as he was floated out of the tub, lovingly dried and laid in their bed. Barely awake, and stumbling himself Draco shook his head at his carelessness. Tomorrow he'd remember to have a cold dinner set out in the bathroom so Harry could eat before he went to sleep. The thought was barely formed before he too fell into bed and the arms of Morpheus.

Tbc…


End file.
